Dirty Laundry
by DustyDreams
Summary: After months of taking it in silence, Kurt finally confesses to his father about his abusive relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is a response to this Glee Angst Meme prompt: .com/glee_angst_?thread=2445904#t2445904

It contains mentions of physical, verbal, and sexual abuse, and a really bad boyfriend. Major Kurt whumpage ahead.

Dirty Laundry

The clock reads 12:18 AM. Burt doesn't know why he knows that. Burt doesn't know why he's awake. He hadn't been awake, but now he's awake, and it's only midnight.

_Tick-tick-tick _- a barely perceiveable knocking on the door explains why he's awake.

Who would be visiting at this hour? And, why would they be knocking on his bedroom door?

Another set of knocks clears the fog from his brain. His voice is sleep-soaked and gruff, "Yeah, come in."

The door opens just enough for Kurt to slip in, then shuts. "Dad?" Kurt's voice is soft in the darkness, and Burt's not sure why he bothers, as he's already woken up the only other occupant of the house.

"Yeah, it's me. What do you need, Kurt?" Burt's giving Kurt the benefit of the doubt and not lecturing him about the hour. He's sure Kurt learned the lesson about trying to use his father's sleepiness to coerce him into agreeing to outlandish purchases.

"I was just...wondering...could I sleep here tonight? With you? It's just, I spilled something on my sheets, and I don't want to wait the two hours for the laundry to finish before I can finally sleep, and the couch really isn't that comfortable, and I promise to be quiet-"

"Kurt," Burt halts his son's nervous rambling, "you can sleep here tonight."

Kurt sighs, "Thanks, Dad."

"Let me just get you a pillow."

"No, wait-" Kurt begins to protest.

Burt flips on the bedside light - and gasps.

Kurt raises his hand to his face, but he's not quick enough, and Burt has already seen the black eye.

"Jesus, Kurt," Burt goes to grab his arm and bring his son closer for a better look, but stops short upon seeing Kurt's wrists.

Hand-shaped bruises.

"Kurt, what happened?"

Kurt's face crumbles. "I'm sorry, Dad! I'm so sorry!" comes out in sobs.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. Come here." Burt sits on the edge of his bed and pats the mattress. He hopes having Kurt come to him will be less imposing than him going to Kurt.

Kurt sits a foot from his dad, pulls his knees to his chest, and cries into them.

Tears spring to Burt's eyes. He knows he has to wait out the sobs, but seeing his kid like this is killing him, and all he wants is to tear whoever caused this apart.

In the meantime, he satisfies his parental instincts by rubbing gentle circles into Kurt's back.

It's a while before the sobs die down, and they don't seem to leave Kurt any less miserable, just more warn-down.

"You want to tell me what's going on now?"

A sniff and a shaky sigh are his only responses.

Burt tries a new tactic: "Who did this?"

It takes a moment for Kurt's mouth to stop trembling enough to get out the words, "S-Sam hi-hit me...hits me."

"Sam, your boyfriend Sam?" Sam whom he met, whom he'd cooked dinner for, whom he'd let in his home, whom he'd trusted _with his son_?

Kurt nods, and another sob has Burt worried he's already lost him again. "Yeah," Kurt recovers, "my b-boyfriend."


	2. Chapter 2

"That _son_ of a..." Burt trails off as he stands. He brushes his hand over his scalp in frustration. "Where is he now? Is he still here?"

Kurt can barely shake his head, the tears blazing hot trails down his face.

"He's not getting away with this," Burt reaches for his bedside phone.

"Dad..."

Burt turns to his son. Kurt is trembling again, broken, begging for comfort, and all Burt can think of is more violence.

No. Kurt needs him now. The rifle can come out later.

"I'm so sorry, Kurt," Burt sits again, this time closer to Kurt. He wraps his arms around his son's quivering form and brings him to his chest.

Kurt clutches to the front of his father's old nightshirt like it's a lifeline. "...N-not your fault..."

"He was in our home. God, I should have seen something. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Kurt just shakes his head at his father's guilt.

Burt refuses to put Kurt in the role of comforter, "Yes, Kurt, I'm your father; that's my job. That was happening under _my_ roof for...shit, how long, Kurt?"

Kurt's tremors once again intensify.

"The whole time?" Burt offers.

Kurt shakes his head emphatically, "No, no, a-at first, he was good, s-so good to me." His next sob seems to lament the memory.

"Okay, okay," Burt's hand returns to rubbing his son's back. "So, it started a week in?"

A small shake of the head.

"A month?"

Kurt stills, then offers a tiny nod.

"Okay, thank you for telling me." That left four months of abuse, but Burt chooses not to voice that.

Kurt knows his father did the math, however, and he's instantly mortified, "I'm sorry, Dad! I'm so sorry!"

"Kurt, Buddy, you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"I should have listened. You've always said I don't listen. You were right. I should have listened to him..."

Burt knows victims of domestic violence (and, _God_, that's what his son is now) often blame themselves, but that doesn't prepare him for this. This is Kurt. This is his tough, proud, doesn't take shit from no one, lets the taunts slide off him and keeps on walking tall _son_.

When had it gotten this bad? When had Kurt started thinking he deserved _this_?

How had Burt not noticed?

Burt lifts Kurt's chin, "Kurt, look at me."

Kurt's face meets Burt's, but his eyes are still locked on his lap.

Burt figures that's the best he's going to get, and continues, "You don't deserve this. You hear me? No one deserves this."

Kurt's eyes close, tears escaping through the lashes. His shame-filled face tries to bow down again, but Burt gently catches it.

"Hey, hey, seriously. You are an amazing person, Kurt, and what he did to you? That's got nothing to do with you. That was not your fault."

Kurt's sobbing again, "Then, why does he hate me so much?"

"He's an idiot." It's the automatic response Burt has always used for kids who didn't appreciate his son, and Kurt would respond with his usual scoff if he weren't so shattered. Instead, he just isn't convinced, continuing to cry.

"I tried so hard! I wanted him so much! Even when he called me a bitch and ripped my clothes and hit me so hard I couldn't breathe, I wanted him so much. I still want him. Why do I still want him?"

Burt doesn't have an answer for that.


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt allows his father's silence to reaffirm his own negative opinion of himself, "I'm such an idiot! What's wrong with me?"

"Kurt-"

"How could I let him do this to me? How could I not see this coming?"

"Kurt, you've got to stop blaming yourself. You can't see the future-"

"No, it was so obvious. Three weeks after our first date, his nickname for me became "slut." I just thought it was some crass playfulness, but when he started yelling it at me when he was mad... and then he choked me, and wouldn't let go, and I thought I was going to die..."

Burt's eyes widen at the admission and he holds his son a little tighter. He doesn't speak, though. Kurt is finally getting this off his chest, and Burt refuses to interrupt.

Kurt could have died,t hough. Burt could have lost his child at the hands of that bastard, and Kurt must have been so scared, and Burt won't be sleeping through the night any time soon.

"When I woke up, he was kissing me with more passion than he ever had, as if he would have preferred making out with my corpse than me, like my presence somehow detracted from the experience.

"Then, he apologized. He swore he'd thought I'd like it, that he read about it somewhere and didn't know he was hurting me, and I _believed_ him. Even when he kept doing it.

"I should have known he wasn't just experimenting. He always knew just how to press so he wouldn't leave bruises. He was good at that: not leaving visible bruises. He always kept them hidden under under my clothes...until tonight..."

Kurt examines his purple wrists and Burt wants desperately to know what just happened to his little boy. Kurt's silence grows, and Burt just prays Kurt's courage will return.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Kurt?" Burt's voice is thick with tears he forgot he'd been crying.

"Is it okay that I'm telling you this?"

"_Yes_," Burt forces.

"I know you didn't want to talk about boys."

And doesn't that hit Burt like a sledgehammer of guilt. "Kurt, you can talk to me about _anything_."

"Are you sure? There's a lot more."

"_Of course_. Please, tell me."

"Okay," comes out as a small sob as Kurt shuffles through memories of abuse.

"At first, all he ever talked about was how much he loved me, how beautiful I was, how talented, how smart. Then, he started mentioning how my nose is too big, or my singing is too screechy, or other _petty_ insults, and I accepted that his opinon of me wouldn't always be perfect.

"But, then he decided to punish me: a smack for every missed question on a test or dance step in Glee. He said he wanted to motivate me to improve, but then the hitting came without cause, and I didn't know how to prevent it if he didn't tell me what I was doing wrong!

"He hated my hair, my clothes, my voice. He hit me so I'd change, and I tried. I really tried! I style my hair differently, and I wear more normal clothing, but I just can't fix my voice!"

Burt had noticed the changes in his son. He remembers the loss of the traditional side-part, and when his wardrobe got less intriguing. He thought Kurt was just trying new things, not sacrificing his identity.

Burt can't stop himself from butting in now, "There's nothing to fix, Kurt. You're perfect." He would give anything for his kid to see that right now.

Kurt flinches at the compliment. He pulls away from his father and stands before him. "I'm not perfect," Kurt lifts up his shirt to reveal a torso completely covered in the violet, green, and yellow of months of bruising.

At this, Burt crumples to the floor and finally breaks down. Kurt isn't just showing him his blemished skin; he's showing him everthing Sam ever said was wrong with him, mapped out in his flesh.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the short chapters! These are really just Livejournal posts (which are subject to a wicked short character limit I've yet to master) that I post over here.

Kurt collapses to his knees in front of his dad, looking ashamed once more.

Burt grabs him, pulling him to his chest with almost too much force and holding on tightly.

His baby is here, in his arms, breathing. Kurt is alive. Kurt is safe. Burt will do everything in his power to keep him that way.

Kurt just lets himself be held, barely feeling the pressure on the bruises he's born for so long.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Kurt whispers into his father's chest. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry I didn't stop him."

Burt wants to say something comforting in response, but the only sound able to escape his lips is a string of choked sobs. He settles for placing a hand gently against his son's damaged chest, an apology for allowing every single one of those marks to appear, for not being there when Kurt needed him.

Kurt immediately wishes he hadn't shown his father the bruises, the marks of failure, the proof of how truly worthless he was.

"I didn't want this, Dad! I just wanted a boyfriend. I didn't want to get hit or have to change myself or have sex. I just woke up and he was already inside me. God, it hurt so much, but he wouldn't stop. It was the only thing I ever asked of him, but he woudln't stop. He never stops! I wanted to wait, to make it special, just like you always said, but he wouldn't let me, and it hurts. It doesn't get better. It still hurts every time!"

Kurt falls apart again.

Burt returns his apologizing hand to Kurt's back and holds his son closer.

His boy was raped. Repeatedly. The child he brought home from the hospital, who'd loved to nap in Daddy's lap, who'd went nuts over bounce houses, who baked all his mother's recipes, who helped at the shop even though it dirtied his fingernails, who still told his dad he loved him even when most teenagers saw themselves as too cool to do so...his _Kurt_ had been beaten and raped by someone he cared for.

Burt can't get any lower. He's already on the floor sobbing and clutching his kid like if he holds him long enough he can make the bad things go away.

He can't handle this.

Still, Kurt continues, "I tried to end things with him tonight. I was..._terrified_, but I knew things would only get worse if I didn't do something. _Finally_ do something. He was so much madder than even I thought he could get. He threw me around my room, screaming about what a slut I was and how I would never find anyone better than him, and it wouldn't matter because he'd already used me up anyway. Then, he pushed me onto my bed and...and, it hurt so much more than it ever had. All he wanted to do was hurt me.

"I thought he was going to kill me. I screamed for you, but the basement's soundproof from the upstairs, and I knew that even though you were so close, you couldn't help me. He choked me, and I was sure I was dying, and as I passed out, I was so sad I'd never see you again.

"I don't know if he meant to let me live or thought I'd died, but when I woke up, he was gone and my sheets were stained with blood, and I knew I couldn't keep this from you anymore."

There's no "right thing" to say here that would make this all better, so Burt just swallows a sob and speaks from the heart, "I love you, Kurt. So much. I'm so glad he didn't take you away from me. I can't even imagine..." Except, he can, and it's horrible.

"I love you, too." Finally purged of his secrets and feeling safe in his father's arms, Kurt succumbs to emotional exhaustion.

Burt can't handle this. Pressing his face into his son's shoulder, he sobs until he passes out.

I'm just putting a note here: I am totally aware I'm ignoring all aspects of medical sciences. I'm really embracing the fiction aspect of fanficcing here, and sorry if that annoys some of you. Yes, someone who was choked to unconsciousness wouldn't be this chatty, and I don't even think there is a way to choke someone without leaving a bruise, or to not be in excruciating pain when hugged with that many bruises, but I have a design for this story, and I've never really been into reality.


	5. Chapter 5

When Burt awakens, Kurt isn't in his arms, and the loss stings.

Burt stands with a protesting crack from his back and calls out for his son.

There's no answer, but the house is pretty big.

Burt tries again from the top of the stairs. Concern laces his voice, but learning that your kid was beaten and raped for months in your own home, the very home he's in now, will do that to you.

"Kitchen!" Burt doesn't realize how worried he'd been until the relief sets in.

Kurt's making cinnamon pancakes: the Hummel Cure-All. Only, instead of stirring the mix, he's beating it into submission. He slams the mixing bowl onto the counter, gracelessly shoves his bangs from his face, and twists the stove knob with enough force to pull the plastic disc right off the appliance.

He just stares at the broken knob in his hand, his lip quivering.

Burt figures "What's wrong?" would be a dumb question, so he settles for taking the plastic piece from his son's fingers and fitting it to the face of the oven.

"I'm sorry."

Burt offers a half-smile, "I think the oven forgives you. Want me to finish these up?" Burt indicates the batter and heated pan.

"Would you?" Kurt sounds so relieved. "I just..."

"Sure thing," Burt picks up the mixing bowl and pours a Mickey Mouse shape into the pan.

When Burt has two stacks plated, buttered, and swimming in maple syrup, he finds Kurt sitting on the living room sofa, staring intently at nothing.

He quietly sets a plate and fork on the coffee table in front of his son and lets him come back to reality in his own time.

Burt sits on the couch next to Kurt and, suddenly finding himself to be starving, goes to town on his short stack. He's halfway through when he hears his son's voice, "We're eating in the living room?"

"Just this once."

"Okay, just don't get syrup on the couch."

Burt would laugh at the parent-child role reversal had that not always been how their relationship worked, and if he actually had the ability to find humor amidst the bleak situation. As it is, Burt just smiles at Kurt being... _Kurt_.

It turns out Kurt's comment sets up a theme for the day. When Burt returns from putting the dishes in the dishwasher (dishwashers mean you don't have to rinse the dishes first, right?), he expects to find Kurt studying the general area before his face again. Instead, Kurt has a rag in one hand and an orange spray bottle in the other, wiping down the coffee table.

Okay, Burt can keep up. "You need help, Buddy?"

Kurt looks at him incredulously, "You never clean."

Burt fakes indignation, "I do when you ask me to."

Kurt offers a grateful smile at the help, "Do you think you could handle the windows?"

Burt nods and heads for the laundry room for cleaning supplies. As he grabs a rag and blue spray bottle, he notices a white sheet spinning in the washer.

He falters, realizing what sheet that is.

His little boy...

Burt fights to stay strong. He will not fall apart. Kurt needs him. He can wash the damn windows.

The house doesn't need the scrub-down (after all, a particular Kurt Hummel resides there), but the duo has the entire entry level and upstairs shining and tidy and perfect.

Kurt makes no move to enter the basement and Burt decides to follow suit. All in due time.

They bake the late Mrs. Hummel's "Famous" Thai Chicken Caserole for dinner and eat in the dining room generally reserved for Thanksgiving.

Then, Kurt's at it again: scrubbing down the kitchen and polishing the dining room.

Burt decides the cleaning must be therapeutic for his son, so even though he knows the kid must be as exhausted as he is, he lets him do it.

He figures, though, that a distraction is probably in order if he's going to finally get Kurt to relax.

Looking through the DVD collection, he goes straight for the musicals. He loves his son.

Then he hears it: muffled sobbing from the laundry room.

Burt's at the doorway in an instant.

Kurt is on the floor in front of the washing machine, holding his wet sheet. He notices his father, "The stain won't come out."

Burt sees it: the faded redish-brown, his son's blood.

He picks up the sheet and tosses it back in the machine. Kneeling before Kurt, he puts both hands on the kid's shoulders, "We'll get you a new sheet."

Kurt looks unconvinced. He puts his arms over his chest protectively.

Burt realizes that there is a connection between the stain on that sheet and the bruises on his son. Burt hates metaphors. "Hey, Kurt, that sheet is not you. You're healing. In a few weeks, those bruises will be gone."

Kurt just sobs harder.


End file.
